


Destiny and Desire - Teddy

by unkissed



Series: Into the Heart of Darkness: A Collection of A/U Twisted Tales [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Child Abuse, Cross-Generation Relationship, Dark Harry, Dubious Consent, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Infidelity, M/M, inappropriate relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:48:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2674352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been written in Destiny's giant book of lives that a Potter would destroy Teddy Lupin's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Destiny and Desire - Teddy

**Author's Note:**

> Please read the tags and the warnings, then strongly consider whether or not you should proceed.
> 
> Thanks to ColorfulStabwound, Draco_Amante, and Shan for support, inspiration, and friendship.
> 
> Dedicated to the only person who can mend Teddy's broken soul.

There was never a part of your childhood without Harry Potter in it.  When you search the vast catalogue of your memories as far back as it will go, you cannot find a single recollection of your parents.  But you find many of Harry. 

 

In your earliest memory, you are two and Harry is twenty.  You remember the warmth and promise of his emerald green eyes and the fondness of his smile. You touched his forehead and traced the lightning bolt scar with your pudgy little fingers.

 

“You got an ouchie?” you asked, furrowing your brow with concern.

 

“A long time ago,” said Harry, wistfully.

 

“Teddy put a plaster on it?” you offered.

 

Harry giggled as he scooped you up and sat you on his lap.  “I’m alright. Thanks.”

 

You were not convinced, for it appeared to be a rather formidable wound.  “Teddy kiss it and make it better,” you insisted.

 

Harry nodded and tilted his head down for you to kiss the pink zig-zagging scar on his forehead.  Your mouth was wet and sticky with whatever you’d just eaten, but Harry didn’t mind and didn’t wipe it off.  His smile brightened, shining all the way up to his eyes, and you knew back then that you would always strive to make him happy, to make him smile, to make all the ouchies go away.  And though that little kiss seemed superfluous, it was everything that Harry needed and never really experienced – pure, unconditional love.  Love without expectation.  Love without obligation.  Though technically he was your godfather, he didn’t really have to return that love to you. But he did.

 

When Harry married Ginny Weasley, you were three, and he trusted you enough to be the keeper of the rings at the wedding. Though you felt special holding such an important and esteemed position, you also dreaded the day. You thought that once Harry got married, he wouldn’t need you anymore, wouldn’t come over to Gran’s for Sunday dinner anymore, wouldn’t love you as much.  You were relieved to find that your worries were unwarranted. When Ginny was away playing quidditch with the Harpies, Harry came over to Gran’s for dinner. And every Sunday when Ginny was home, Gran dropped you off at Harry’s house in Godric’s Hollow to spend the day there. Sundays were always the best day.

 

One Sunday Gran brought you to Harry’s, even though Ginny wasn’t there – Gran had some important errands to run and Harry was willing to take you off of her hands for the afternoon.  You could tell that Harry wasn’t feeling right. He was withdrawn and quiet, even though he did his best to smile as he played with you.

 

“Are you sick, Harry?” you asked him, concerned as always for his wellbeing.

 

“Not sick,” he answered, “Just a bit unwell.”

 

“You should take a nap,” you suggested, since it seemed to be Gran’s cure for every nonspecific malaise.

 

“Actually, I think I will,” he replied with a nod, and you felt so proud of yourself for being helpful.  “Would you like to come take a nap with me, Teddy?” he asked, holding his hand out for you.

 

You jumped at the opportunity. He took you up to his room – the biggest bedroom of the house with the biggest bed – and you felt infinitely special to be allowed in.  He curled himself around you on top of the quilt that Molly had sewn and you smiled so contently as you absently traced the patterns on the patchwork.  You wouldn’t nap, though.  You didn’t want to miss a second of being alone with Harry. But you also didn’t want to keep him from resting.  So you lay there quietly, perfectly still, and pretended to drift off to sleep.

 

After a while, you could feel Harry shaking around you and hear him quietly sniffling.  You turned in his arms and you pressed your little hand on his tear-stained cheek. “You’re sad, Harry, not sick,” you said, because you wanted him to know that you understood. He looked so tormented, and it broke your heart to see him like this.  “Why?” you asked.

 

He blinked away his tears and searched for the right words – words that a three-year-old might understand, but could never really comprehend.  “I feel so alone,” he admitted in a whisper.

 

“Because Ginny is away?” you asked.

 

He shrugged.  “Even when she’s here.  I still feel it. Like something is missing.”

 

“Like you want your mum and dad?” You not only understood, you felt exactly what Harry felt.  You were orphaned even younger than Harry had been when his parents were killed. You were well versed in that feeling of being incomplete. You had felt that same ache of being alone in the world, despite being surrounded by love.

 

Even though you were this little toddler and he was this grown man, you shared a deep connection that nobody else had with either of you, one that tied your parallel lives together.  And maybe it was Fate that brought you under his wing. Perhaps it was written in Destiny’s giant book of lives, from the moment that you were born and your father had entrusted Harry with you.

 

 

Harry nodded his head and started to cry again, which was not your intention.  You rushed to make things better because you thought that it was your fault he was crying now.  You nestled your face into his chest and you stretched your arms to encompass him in a hug as best as you could.  He held you tight enough to crush you, but you didn’t object, because you knew it was what Harry needed. You would give him anything to ease his pain – the pain you thought you understood, even at such a young age.

 

But what you didn’t know at the time was that Harry felt overwhelmed by so many other things, and his loneliness just exacerbated it. 

 

He had risen through the ranks of aurors very quickly and so much was expected of him, having been the savior of the wizarding world. That week had been the toughest for Harry.  He had remotely commanded a team of four aurors on a mission to infiltrate and bring down a London crime ring. They weren’t Death Eaters, but were dark wizards, nonetheless.  Harry had underestimated them, and it had cost his entire team their lives.

 

 

Not even as an adult would you fully understand this part of Harry – the part of Harry that had to live with the fact that people had died for him, on several separate occasions, from the time he was an infant until now.  You grew up in the Age of Victory and never had to see the ravages of war, other than in the gaping holes it had left in your family.  But you would always see the burden weighing heavily upon Harry’s brow, and it made you love him more.  He didn’t really have to save the world.  He never asked to be chosen. He didn’t have to keep on fighting evil after the war had ended. But he did it anyway and he paid the price so that everyone could live at peace.

 

You were the only one that ever really saw Harry at his most tormented.  He was always very good at keeping up appearances and hiding his pain.  And from then on, you would always look for signs that Harry was suffering inside, and you would do everything you could to reach out and ease that suffering.

 

 

You never let a Sunday go by without seeing Harry, unless he was off on a mission or something otherwise work related. You inwardly hoped for the days when it was just you and Harry alone at his house, even though those were the days that he let his guard down and splayed his heart out in his palms for you to witness in all its wretched beauty.  You’d snuggle him in bed while he read to you, or you’d sit on his lap on the couch and nuzzle the side of his face while watching television. You never asked too many questions when he sighed sadly, and he never really admitted to anything beyond having a bad week at work.  But since that first time alone with Harry in his bed, he never said he felt alone, and you thought that maybe it was because he had _you_ now.

 

 

~@~

 

 

When you were five, Ginny stopped playing professional quidditch.  You thought it was because she was very sick.  Something wasn’t right about her, and you worried that she was maybe dying, because she never got better since she threw up at your birthday party that April. But you were more concerned about how Harry would be affected by the loss of his wife than about Ginny’s condition.  

 

It was July, at Harry’s twenty-third birthday, when he took you aside from the festivities and sat you down in the living room while everyone else was in the backyard. 

 

“Ginny and I are going to make an important announcement after we bring out my cake,” Harry said, “but I wanted you to be the first to know.” 

 

You felt so privileged.  But you could recognize a little glimmer of worry in Harry’s eyes and it unsettled you.  The more he spoke, the more it seemed like he was buffering some bad news.

 

“You know you’re very special to me and I care about you very much,” he said, resting both hands on your shoulders.

 

You nodded and smiled, if a bit nervously.

 

“You know I love you, no matter what, right Teddy?” he assured you.

 

You nodded again but found it difficult to smile. You sat on your hands and braced yourself for the worst.  But nothing could prepare you for what Harry was about to say.

 

“Ginny’s having a baby.  She’s pregnant.  We’re going to have a son.”  You could tell that he was holding back how overjoyed he was. 

 

You knew it was for your sake that he stifled his excitement.  And he was right to extend that courtesy to you, because he was absolutely correct in his assumption that you would not take this news well.  All the color drained from your cheeks.  Your hair turned a sickly green color, mottled with patches of dark blue. Your lavender eyes filled with tears. Before Harry could comfort you, you ran from the house.  You went out the front, rather than facing Harry’s entire family through the open back door.

 

Harry chased you down the street and caught your arm about four houses away.  And that’s when you broke down and shouted at him, your voice ragged and punctuated by sobs. It looked every bit like a temper tantrum, but it was much more.  You felt utterly betrayed.

 

“Why are you having a kid?  You could’ve had _me_. _I_ could be your son. Why didn’t you just adopt _me_?”  You collapsed onto the sidewalk and cried hard into your hands.

 

Harry crouched down low to try to meet your eyes, but you refused to look at him as he explained.  “I couldn’t take you away from your Gran. You are all she has left. Andie has lost _everything_.  She lost her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law, her sister. And her other sister won’t talk to her. You are the only family that she has, Teddy.  You belong with her, and she needs you.”

 

It all made sense to you, but it did nothing to comfort you. Gran was always good to you, but she didn’t understand you like Harry. And no matter what Harry said, you knew everything was going to change.  You couldn’t possibly compete for attention with Harry’s own flesh and blood.

 

When Harry and Ginny made the big announcement, you sat under the table in the kitchen with your hands over your ears. The Weasleys were a raucous bunch, and the news sent them all into a loud frenzy of cheers and congratulations, which you could still hear, much to your dismay.

 

At the end of the party, you asked to spend the night at Harry’s.  Gran was reluctant to allow you to stay – she didn’t want to burden Harry on his birthday. But Harry insisted that it was alright. What you didn’t know was that Harry only allowed you to stay because he couldn’t bring himself to send you away after hurting you so much with the news. 

 

It had set a bad precedent.  Whenever you were angry with Harry, which had increased in frequency since you learned he was expecting a baby, you’d guilt him into letting you sleep over.  You were five and didn’t know how manipulative you were being – you felt justified. If Harry was going to replace you, you would damn well milk him for every minute you could spend with him until the dreaded day his son would be born.

 

Most of those nights, you would stay up later than Gran would normally let you, watching television while wedged between Harry and Ginny on the living room sofa.  More often than not, you’d fall asleep on the couch, and not wake up until morning, when you’d find that someone had moved you into the guest bedroom on the first floor.

 

But one night, you roused from your sleep as Harry had lowered you onto the guest bed.  “Harry, stay,” you murmured sleepily, hooking your hands around the back of his neck. 

 

“Not tonight,” he whispered, “I’ll see you in the morning, though.  Promise.”

 

You whined and pouted, rubbing your bleary eyes, “But when the baby comes, we won’t have sleep-overs anymore. Please, Harry.”

 

He tucked you in and said, “I’ll stay until you fall back asleep.”

 

You threw the covers off, budged over to the edge of the bed, and pat the narrow patch of mattress next to you. “Here.  Lie down and get comfy.”

 

He chewed his lip the way he always did when there was a battle going on inside his head – of course, you wouldn’t recognize that until you were older.  He gave a resigned sigh and said, “Just for a little bit.”

 

With your arm draped over Harry and your face nuzzled against him, you felt warm and perfect and happy. He was the best teddy bear any boy could ever hope for.  You never slept more soundly than you did that night.

 

 

You didn’t know it, but Harry was losing a lot of sleep lately.  The pressure of his career was enough to nearly break him, and impending fatherhood did nothing but add to his stress.  You could see that something was wearing on him – you just didn’t know what it was. You did not want to contribute to his problems, but it still didn’t stop you from imposing yourself on him at his house.  While you were there, you would do anything to make sure Harry wouldn’t regret letting you stay.

 

So when he came into the guestroom where you were sleeping, late one night in November, you didn’t even ask why he was there. You took one look at the broken expression on his face, pulled back the covers of the bed, and made room for him to lie down.

 

He folded you up in his arms and cried, just like that time on his bed upstairs.  You whispered, “Let it out, Harry.  Let it out and let it go,” which was what Gran would tell you when you’d have your own anguished crying episodes, which was often.  She’d let you scream and cry and throw a fit while she’d sit in the corner to make sure you didn’t do too much damage.  She knew that, more than any other child, you had every right to be angry at the world, and it was useless to keep all that pain locked inside.

 

You knew that everyone had their own way of channeling and dealing with pain.  For you, it was crying and screaming until your hair involuntarily turned crimson. For Gran, it was bouts of excessive cleaning.  And you thought that it was just Harry’s way of coping when he moved against you under the covers as he cried silently.

 

The first couple of nights, you thought it was some sort of nervous repetitive motion, akin to how some people rocked back and forth when they cried.  After a few nights of that, you could feel his hand moving swiftly behind you, though he wasn’t touching you – his hand would sometimes bump into you, but you didn’t think it was on purpose. 

 

Then one night, accidental bumps evolved into purposeful touching.  You could feel unidentifiable parts of him touching the small of your back. You couldn’t see what Harry was doing when he was curled up beside you, and when you tried, he gently touched his hand to your head so you wouldn’t look and said, “I’m here. It’s going to be alright, Teddy,” as if he was comforting you.  But you didn’t need comforting in that moment – Harry needed it.  And you thought it was so loving and selfless of him to try to be a comfort to you while he was the one falling apart unseen.

 

When he stopped, he made muffled, pained noises and you weren’t sure if he was hurting or crying by the sound of his erratic breathing. You couldn’t understand what had just happened, other than the fact that it somehow made Harry feel better. Despite the fact that it made you uneasy, you accepted it because you’d do anything for Harry.

 

From the very first time, Harry had asked you to keep these moments a secret, which only made them feel more special to you, and this moment was no different.  He never threatened you, but you were afraid that if you told somebody about your secret time with Harry, he’d not want to see you anymore. That would be the worst fate you could ever suffer.  At least, that’s what you believed back then.  And though Harry would never push you out of his life, you’d suffer far worse.

 

For it had always been written in the book of Destiny, that a Potter would destroy Teddy Lupin’s heart.

 

 

~@~

 

On the twenty-sixth of December, your life as you had known it ended. 

 

When the owl came that afternoon, bearing the dreaded news, you fell to pieces as Gran read the note out loud.

 

_Mr. Harry Potter and Mrs. Ginny Potter_

_are elated to announce the arrival of_

_James Sirius Potter_

_born at a quarter past ten in the morning_

_26 December, 2003_

_weighing 4.04 kilograms_

You threw the most awful temper tantrum of all your five-and-a-half years as you tore up your bedroom with nothing but the sheer pain in your heart fueling your wandless magic.  Your anguished, tear-stained face nearly matched the violent shade of red that flashed through your once-turquoise hair. Though Gran knew you needed to let out all your anger, it was so destructive that she had to intervene. With a swish of her wand, she froze the tornado of bed sheets and curtains and broken toys that swirled around you, and held you until you stopped screaming. She whispered what she always said during your tantrums.  And you _did_ let it all out and let it go until you felt like you were completely empty inside.

 

You spent the rest of the day curled up under your bed, staring blankly, feeling more alone than you have ever felt. You were so lost in your gloom that you barely heard anything Gran said when she coaxed you out the next morning and dressed you.

 

When you arrived at the hospital, your eyes were still red and puffy, but your hair was now a dull, melancholic blue. You pouted the entire walk towards your doom, down the corridor that stank of baby powder and sanitizer. You wouldn’t enter the room right away, and Gran knew better than to force you.  You peeked from behind the divider curtain as you watched Gran bestow gifts and well wishes upon Harry, Ginny, and the bundle of blankets that was supposedly a baby.

 

It was Harry who eventually coaxed you out. “Teddy, would you like to meet your god brother?” he asked softly, crouching down before you, gently taking your hand.

 

You looked at him quizzically, turning that word over in your head.  “God brother?”

 

Harry gave a small nod and smiled. “Yes, Teddy.  Your god brother.”

 

It had never occurred to you that this baby would be anything to you but your replacement.  But the revelation that he was actually related to you, even if not by blood, stirred something inside you that you hadn’t known you wanted until that very moment – a little brother of your own.  You weren’t being replaced.  You were being gifted with the most special job Harry could ever bestow upon you.  You were now somebody’s big brother.

 

You smiled weakly and nodded. Harry lead you slowly into the room.

 

Ginny gave a quiet, pleased gasp, “There he is! I was wondering when you’d finally show up.”  She gestured for you to come over to the bed, where she sat up with a baby in one arm, “Come and see.”

 

Gran reminded you about being gentle and not spreading germs and everything you had vaguely heard her talking about on the way to the hospital.  Harry picked you up and sat you on the bed at Ginny’s side.  You peered over and saw the baby’s squished up little head peeking out from a tight wrap of blankets.  He had no hair and looked soft as a peach, like a tiny, sleeping cherub.

 

“This is James,” said Ginny.

 

“Such a grown-up name,” you replied, tilting your head to the side to study the slumbering infant.

 

“What would you call him?” asked Harry amusedly.

 

You thought about it for a while, testing out different names in your head – _Jimmy, Jem, Jay Jay_. When you settled upon one, you declared firmly, but not too loudly so as not to wake the child, “I shall call you _Jamie_.”

 

At that precise moment, as if saying his name had broken a spell, the baby stirred and woke up.  His tiny eyes blinked and he gazed up angrily, as most babies do when roused from sleep.  His eyes were the color of the ocean in a tempest – a stormy blue grey.  And when he vaguely looked at you, you knew right then and there that you would protect and love your little brother as fiercely as if he shared your blood.

 

When he started to cry, you leaned down and gently kissed the very top of his small head and you said, “It’s going to be alright, Jamie.  Teddy’s here.”

 

 

From that moment on, you were inseparable. You spent as much time at Harry’s house as was reasonable, and perhaps more.  And though you were quite young, you were a capable mother’s helper. You knew how to change nappies and how to warm a bottle by the time you were six and Jamie was big enough that Ginny could leave the room for a bit to clean house. 

 

You were there to witness every one of Jamie’s milestones, from being able to sit up on his own, to his first word, which was a resolutely defiant _no_. When he learned to walk, he wielded the power of that word over his parents and neither them nor you could stop him from getting into precarious situations, usually involving climbing. It seemed that not a day went by when somebody was shouting _get down from there, Jamie,_ or _don’t touch that, Jamie_.

 

When he was big enough to play with you, that’s when the real fun began – when adventure and mischief ran hand-in-hand, just like you and Jamie across the fields and the forest behind the house. But even when Albus and Lily joined the family, neither of them would be as close to you as Jamie. He was your brother, your best mate, your partner in crime.  And you knew he loved you more than he loved his own siblings.  Which made it all the more difficult to leave him when you were eleven and he was five – the age you’d been when he was born.

 

You had the adventurous heart of a Gryffindor, the die-hard loyalty of a Hufflepuff, and the manipulative tendencies of a Slytherin. Yet you sorted into Ravenclaw when you arrived at Hogwarts, once again feeling alone in a crowded place. Perhaps you’d been particularly introspective the night of the sorting, when the hat had been placed over your turquoise curls.  Or maybe the hat knew that you’d throw yourself into your studies just to cope with your loneliness.

 

Everyone wanted to be friends with the metamorphmagus, so you were never without company.  But it was difficult for you to open up to anybody.  Not that you were unfriendly – you just couldn’t connect with people on a deeper level.  Nobody really understood the lingering emptiness that haunted you always. The only person that ever understood was Harry.  So you wrote to him often, more often than you’d written to Jamie.  And Harry’s letters were what got you through the first year of Hogwarts, which had been the hardest.  Part of you knew that your letters were also a lifeline for Harry, because the connection you’d shared before his children were born never went away – it had only lie dormant while you were having too much fun with Jamie to recognize that Harry was becoming progressively more tormented without your special time together to ease his pain.

 

 

~@~

 

 

It was Easter holidays during your second year of Hogwarts, just a week shy of your thirteenth birthday, when you noticed the pronounced anguish hidden in Harry’s eyes. You’d spent Easter Sunday at The Burrow with the whole Potter-Weasley clan, and though Harry did his best to put on the happy façade of a man who had everything, you could recognize the little cracks in the veneer. 

 

The rise in organized crime and illegal potions trafficking on the black market had been all over the Prophet lately. You couldn’t help but notice Harry and Aunt Hermione whispering to each other gravely, most likely about work – this was always forbidden at Weasley family functions, and you knew the conversation must have been serious if they both risked a thorough whacking from Molly to talk about DMLE stuff.  Though you were disappointed, you weren’t surprised when Harry and Aunt Hermione left the party early.

 

You slept over Harry’s house that night, but rather than sleeping on a cot in Jamie and Albie’s room upstairs like you often did, you opted for the guestroom downstairs.  You told yourself that this wasn’t calculated.  When Jamie pouted, you explained that you had some reading to do for school.  Technically, you did have work to do, but you had a whole week to finish.  You didn’t need to stay up reading well beyond when everyone else had fallen asleep.

 

There was a part of you, a manipulative part, which knew that it would be late when Harry would return home, and that he would find the light from within the guestroom shining through the slightly open door. That part of you also knew that Harry would feel compelled to shut the light.  Another part of you, a hopeful part, wanted Harry to feel compelled to say good night to you.  Harry behaved exactly how you’d predicted.

 

“No offense, Harry, but you look terrible,” you said, gazing up at him with concern, as he tucked you in.

 

He chuckled quietly.  “I wish I could say I didn’t feel as bad as I look.”

 

“I miss you, Harry,” you said with a sigh as you reached out to take his hand.

 

“I miss you too, Teddy,” he replied, holding your hand in both of his, smiling sadly.

 

A long silence passed between you as your lavender eyes connected with Harry’s green ones.  And you both knew that the way you missed each other went beyond the physical distance between Hogwarts and Godric’s Hollow, or the time spent away. It killed you to see Harry hurting inside.  Though it had not seemed so for years, you knew that Harry needed you.  You wanted to smooth out the lines carved out by stress between his brows.

 

You budged over to the edge of the bed to make some space for him, which was considerably less than when you were little. “Stay with me until I fall asleep?”

 

This time, Harry chewed his lip for longer before answering.  “I don’t know if I should, Teddy.”

 

“Please, Harry?” you pleaded quietly, “Just for a little while?”

 

He gave in with a resigned sigh and squeezed next to you to lie on his back, beneath the covers on the small bed. Your arms were bigger now, and you could fit them around him without stretching.  He smelled of city air and spilled coffee and that unidentifiable essence of soft masculinity that was inherently _Harry_. You closed your eyes, breathed him in deeply, and let his scent fill your head so that you could take the smell of _home_ with you after he was gone.

 

“It’s going to be alright, Harry,” you whispered as you snuggled next to him.

 

“I really want to believe that, Teddy,” he replied as he pushed his glasses to the top of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

You offered gentle advice as best as one your age could.  “Maybe things suck out there, but right here, right now, everything is perfect.  So let it go.”

 

Harry rubbed your shoulder affectionately. “It’s not so easy. There’s just so much.”

 

“You can’t do anything about it right this minute, so you might as well just forget about it.  At least until morning,” you said.

 

“You’re right.  I just… I can’t shut my mind off at night, you know? Even when I’m not thinking about it, I still _feel_ the weight of everything. It’s so suffocating.”

 

“Don’t keep it inside.  It won’t do you any good bottled up.  So let it out and let it go.”

 

Harry repeated it like a mantra, just as you always had, “Let it out and let it go.”  He took a deep cleansing breath. “Let it out and let it go.” That’s when he broke and started to cry silently.  “Help me, Teddy.  I feel like I’m drowning.”

 

“Anything, Harry,” you said as you squeezed him tightly, “I’ll do anything.  Whatever you need.”

 

He took your hand and whispered through a teary sniffle, “This is just between us, okay?”

 

“I know,” you replied as you nuzzled your face against him reassuringly.

 

Nobody but Harry could make you feel more special or privileged.  Perhaps not even Jamie. So when Harry slowly guided your hand to his lap, you didn’t flinch or protest.  You said, “Show me how to make you feel better.”

 

 

You returned to school after Easter holidays a different person – even more withdrawn and closed-off than before. Because, when you had said you’d do anything for Harry, you hadn’t realized that in order to make him feel whole again, he had to break you.

 

 

~@~

 

The more you gave Harry, the more he needed you, and you wondered if you really were helping him at all or just contributing to the haunted, pained look in his eyes.  But you were powerless to say no, not because you were afraid of him, but you were afraid of what he would do without you. 

 

When each of Harry’s children were born, you had vowed to protect them like a big brother.  When they were babies, it was a matter of preventing them from climbing furniture or keeping choking hazards out of their reach.  But as they grew, you took it upon yourself to safeguard their innocence, for yours had been taken away from you at such a young age.

 

You didn’t have to worry too much about Jamie and Lily – they were their mother’s left and right hand and were rarely away from her side when they weren’t off playing.  But Albie – you worried about him.  He was a lot like you – introspective, quiet, and sensitive.  And he was very close with his father.  They shared the same emerald green eyes and dark hair, and you wondered if they secretly shared anything else.

 

There was a small part of you that was selfish, that didn’t want anyone else to be special to Harry in the way that you were special to him.  For even though you now understood that Harry had overstepped the boundaries of what an adult should be doing with a child, let alone a godfather with his godson, you still loved him so much that you resigned to live with it.  You would let it continue if it meant Harry wouldn’t seek out comfort from anyone else.

 

 

You thought that Harry couldn’t break you any more than he already had.  But when you were fifteen, he destroyed what little integrity and innocence you had left.

 

And the part that tormented you the most was that you wanted it.

 

In the potting shed behind the house, well past midnight, bent over the soil covered table, was not where you had imagined it would happen – yes, you had been imagining it for months. But the shed was all you had, for that little guestroom on the first floor was now Jamie’s bedroom. It hurt, like being impaled upon hot iron, when Harry filled you and left his mark within you. For a moment, you finally felt complete. And when it was over, Harry cried and kissed the back of your neck, and your turquoise hair was streaked through with wisps of purple and dark blue.

 

It had been a long time since you saw Harry as a father figure.  At this point in your lives, you could almost consider him an equal – you were vastly more mature than anyone your age, and it seemed that Harry had never really grown up on the inside.  So it was not completely unimaginable when you fell in love with Harry Potter.

 

It was obviously hopeless and wrong for a myriad of reasons. But you’d never known self-control, which was understandable, considering who your role model had been growing up. That first time with him would not be your last. You wanted Harry to love you the way you loved him, even though it meant that it could destroy his family, which was essentially _your_ family. You gave yourself to him in every way, at every given opportunity.

 

 

When Harry picked you up from the train station upon your return home after your fifth year at Hogwarts, with no kids or wife in tow, you were secretly elated and expectant.  He took you out to lunch and you were both rather quiet. A palpable tension hung in the air. You could sense that Harry wanted to tell you something and was searching for the words.

 

You reached for his hand across the table and you said with just a hint of a smirk, “Hey, why don’t we get out of here? Find someplace to be alone.”

 

As he always did, Harry chewed on his lip and was reluctant.  “Okay. But just to talk.”

 

Perhaps his intentions were to simply talk to you away from other eyes when he took you to his private office at the DMLE. It was a bank holiday, so nobody was there.  But once the door was closed and locked behind you, you were on him.  You kissed him hard on the mouth and tugged on the closures of his trousers, muttering breathlessly against his lips, “ _Just talk_ , my arse.  I need you, Harry.”

 

He was powerless beneath the hands that groped him and the mouth that devoured him, underneath your body moving sinuously against him and the desirous weight of your stare.  You were drunk on the taste and the smell of him, gorging yourself on his flesh after being without him for months.  Harry would bend you over and cry against the back of your neck every time he fucked you, but you yearned for the day when he could make love to you without tearing himself apart from the inside out.  This was not that day, nor would that day likely come.

 

Harry really did want to talk to you, and there was no avoiding it after you satisfied your urges.  He sat you down in a chair while he leaned back on the desk, half sitting half standing, and peered down at you gravely through his spectacles.

 

“Ginny wants to leave me,” he said bluntly.

 

You furrowed your brow even though your heart leaped within your chest.  “Does she know?”

 

Harry shook his head as his gaze dropped to the floor. “Not about us.”

 

Your back stiffened in your seat. You were very astute for your age. You hadn’t seen this coming, but as soon as it was upon you, you felt stupid for not expecting it. Harry couldn’t look you in the eyes when he confessed, just like he could never look you in the eyes when he fucked you.  “I had an affair with my boss,” he said.

 

You opened and closed your mouth several times before you could gather yourself enough to speak.  And when you did, it all came out with scorn and fury. “Your _boss_ , Harry?  You’re telling me you’ve been fucking your _boss_?” You were angry and incredulous and you had every right to lash out at him, not just because of what he’d done, but because how he chose to tell you.

 

“Believe, me, Teddy, I know how wrong it was,” he sighed sadly.

 

“Save your fucking breath, Harry,” you snapped, as streaks of red started to run through your hair, “I’m not stupid. I know you’re the head of the auror department, and I know who your direct commander is, and I fucking knowthat Aunt Hermione is the Director of the DMLE.  What I _don’t_ know is _why_ you thought it would sound better if you said you’re having an affair with your _boss_.”

 

Harry sighed again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Had.  I _had_ an affair with Hermione.  It’s over. I’m trying to patch things up with Ginny. She wants to take some time apart, but ultimately, I hope we’ll stay together.”

 

“Well that’s just lovely,” you spat sarcastically. “You know I really don’t fucking _care_ that it was Hermione. I just want to know how long it had been going on for.”  You got up from your seat and forced Harry to look at you. “Tell me, Harry, how long were you screwing her, hm?  Weeks? Months?  Years?”

 

He looked you square in the eyes and you saw every wretched sin and regret within his emerald stare.  “Nine years,” he said quietly, but firmly.

 

And that’s when Harry truly broke you.

 

Your breath hitched and you shook your head slowly with disbelief.  “Nine years… Nine fucking years…”

 

Tears welled up in your eyes and you shook with silent sobs as you fell apart slowly. You thought you had known pain, but nothing could compare to the all-encompassing anguish you felt right down to your soul. Once, you had hoped that Harry’s love would evolve the way yours did for him.  But now you wondered if Harry ever loved you at all.

 

He should have known better than to try to comfort you at this point, but he reached out to you and you swat his hand away. You would have punched him in the face, had he actually touched you. 

 

When you caught your breath enough to speak, your voice was ragged and tortured between your anguished sobs. “I gave you _everything_ , Harry.  I gave it to you because I thought you _needed_ me. I thought I was the only one who could make you feel like you weren’t drowning.”

 

“Teddy, this doesn’t erase how special you are to me,” said Harry, looking sorry, but not sorry enough.

 

You cut him off before he could speak further, because you didn’t want to hear it.  “Oh, fuck you!” You curled your fists into the front of his chest and repeated with emphasis, “ _Fuck you_ , Harry! You didn’t really need _me_.” 

 

Harry tried to escape from your condemning stare as you shook him and shouted through gritted teeth, “You took everything from me because you’re a selfish prick and you let me believe that I was the only one who could help you.  You let me believe that I _had_ to do what I did because nothing else and no one else could make you happy.  I wanked you off and sucked your dick and let you fuck me for _nothing_!”

 

You pushed him away and took a step back, sobbing. You calmed down just enough to stop shouting. “Maybe if I was your age, it wouldn’t matter so much – maybe I’d get over the fact that you used me. But, Harry, I was _so young_ when it started.  I didn’t really _want_ to do the things I did; I just wanted you to be happy.  Because I loved you.”  You sank back into your chair and you cried.

 

After a short silence, Harry muttered weakly, “You’re right. What I did to you when you were little was reprehensible. And not a day goes by that I don’t hate myself for it.  But, Teddy, you initiated almost every instance.  Like today – you practically jumped on me.”

 

You looked up at the ceiling, as if begging the gods to stop torturing you, at a momentary loss for words.  You huffed incredulously, “I can’t believe you’re putting this on _me_.  Yeah, I admit, I came into your office fully intending to fuck you. But I’m sixteen - that’s _today_. And it doesn’t change what you did to me back then, or the fact that you used me.  You think I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to stay with me until I fell asleep?  Would any normal, sane, righteous man take that as an invitation to rub off on a five-year-old?”

 

It was Harry’s turn to cry now. He turned away from you, as if he couldn’t stand the way you were looking a him, and walked to the window. He stared absently through the soot-stained glass and mumbled, “I never forced you to do anything, though. You were the one that was always pushing yourself on me.  What was I supposed to do?”

 

“Say _no_ ,” you replied, emphasizing the words for their obviousness.

 

“Youcould’ve said _no_ as well, Teddy,” Harry muttered, “It’s just as much your fault that we let things get as far as they did. So don’t make me out to be some sort of predator.”

 

You had no strength left to argue. Harry was never going to admit he was completely to blame.  You started to believe that you really were at fault and you felt defeated, powerless, and utterly heartbroken.

 

After a drawn-out silence, you spoke hoarsely and bitterly. “Not that I’d ever want you again, but I guess this means it’s over between us.”

 

“I wanted to tell you at lunch, but I was afraid we’d make a scene,” Harry admitted.

 

You let out a mirthless laugh and scoffed sarcastically, “Oh, so you took me to your office and you made sure to get in one last good fuck before you ended it. Good call, Harry. I feel so much better about the fact that I needlessly let you use me for ages while you screwed your sister-in-law. Hell, maybe you should screw me again, because I don’t feel completely screwed over yet.”

 

“Now you’re just being nasty,” he reprimanded you.

 

You glared at him from across the room and hissed, “Oh, fuck off. Go home.  Go be a good husband to your wife and a good father to your kids. I don’t bloody care what else you do. Just do what’s right by them, and leave me the fuck alone.”

 

You wouldn’t even let Harry drive you to Gran’s. You didn’t want to spend another minute alone with him.  You took the train home and you didn’t look back.

 

 

~@~

 

 

You were too old for temper tantrums, so you dealt with your pain in other destructive ways.  Harry had left an aching void inside you, and you spent the summer trying to fill it. 

 

You made a fake ID card and used your inherent abilities as a metamorphmagus to age yourself a few years.  You told Gran that you were going to Harry’s, but you stayed out all night at muggle clubs in London.  You went home indiscriminately with anybody that wanted you – gay, straight, male, female, young, old – it didn’t matter to you, as long as they could make you forget for a moment that you had loved Harry.  But nobody made much of a dent in your heart – anonymous sex without affection did nothing for you but make you feel even more empty.

 

Only once did you feel anything other than what had become your pattern of emotions - recklessness, followed by resigned indifference, finished off with self-loathing.

 

On that particular evening, you caught the eye of an attractive man with tattoos twining delicately up his arms, tousled dark hair, and a devious smirk.  He was perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties.  He was propping up the bar and smoking a cigarette as he watched you dancing to the thumping beat.  He was quite pleasing to the eye, but not much more than anyone else you’d slept with in the weeks prior, and neither was his companion. 

 

You hadn’t even realized that he was with someone until he nudged the gentleman next to him with his elbow and gestured toward you with his chin.  This other man was very blond, very pale, and had a haughty air about him.  Wearing an impeccably tailored suit, he was the polar opposite of his tattooed cohort, who was rough around the edges and wore tight jeans.

 

While they were sizing you up, you thought to yourself that it might be fun to let the pair have their way with you. They were thinking exactly the same thing. It didn’t take very long for them to get you back to their place, not that you’d been anything but easy during your weekly outings.

 

From the start, you knew they were a couple by the way they seemed to move in perfect sync with each other, and by the way they seemed to communicate with one another with just a look.  And while they both used your every orifice concurrently with relish, you could tell from their tender interactions that they loved each other. The way they gazed at each other so adoringly made you wish somebody could look at you like that.

 

You fucked the blond one and wiped that haughty expression clean off his pretty face while the tattooed one smoked a cigarette and watched with dark amusement.  You could see in his expression that there was no jealousy, no spite, no competition. They weren’t fucking you to hurt each other, they were sharing you the way you imagined they shared everything. You were amazed at how easy it was for them to be so trusting and liberal with one another.

 

When they were done with you, the sun was coming up and they let you stay for coffee.  As they shuffled tiredly around the kitchen, preparing breakfast, they seemed nothing like the sexual deviants they’d been in the bedroom and appeared to be a harmonious pair.  Maybe they were even married.  You felt guilty for a very brief moment.

 

When you asked them how they could partake of you so readily without hurting one another, the tattooed one answered, “Love. And faith.  And trust.  No matter who he’s with, I know that he’s mine.  I know that even if I stray or he strays, we will always wind up where we belong – together.  It is our fate. Our destiny.  We’ve lost each other several times over the years, but we always found each other again.”

 

It was the first time you felt hope in ages. If Destiny brought a couple of oddly matched perverts together, then maybe there was hope for you. Probably not Harry, but surely there was somebody out there with whom you belonged.

 

 

~@~

 

You couldn’t stay away from Harry’s house the entire summer, and not because you’d suddenly changed your mind about him. After a few days, the owls started coming.  Jamie was dying to see you. You had missed him dearly, but your newly found aversion to his father had kept you away. However, you owed it to Jamie and his siblings to be there for them.  From Jamie’s letters, it was clear that the fall-out from Harry and Ginny’s crumbling marriage was starting to settle on the heads of their children. Harry was staying at the old house on Grimauld Place, and the three kids split their time between there and Godric’s Hollow.

 

It had been months since you’d seen the three of them – not since Easter.  As soon as you stepped through the floo, Jamie barreled into you and nearly crushed you with his embrace. He looked up at you and said, “Teddy, you dork, what took you so long to come visit?  I’ve missed you.” 

 

And that’s when you saw what you’d been yearning for – shining in the tempest of Jamie’s ocean blue eyes – complete and utter adoration. It had always been there, but you were just too distracted to notice it.  Jamie was ten and worshiped you like a hero, despite calling you every derogatory name he could get away with before somebody scolded him.

 

Jamie hardly let Albie and Lily get a hug in before whisking you off and monopolizing your time, just like he always did. Only this time, your mind wasn’t distracted by the prospect of possibly being alone with Harry later. For the first time in years, you could just enjoy being with Jamie. 

 

You and he weren’t as close as you once were, not just because you spent so much time away at Hogwarts, but also because you’d grown up.  You’d been on the earth sixteen years, but you had the soul of someone ten years older. It caused a disconnect between you and Jamie that had been steadily growing since you lost your innocence. But even though you weren’t best friends, Jamie was still every bit your little brother.  You thought that would never change.

 

Until the day Jamie wasn’t so little anymore.

 

 

Your last year at school was Jamie’s first, and he entered Hogwarts with a huge splash.  The entire wizarding world was buzzing about Harry Potter’s son beginning his magical education, and The Daily Prophet had already published his photo on the front page with headlines declaring that Jamie was destined for greatness. Everyone in the school had big expectations, but it wasn’t fair to expect a child who’d been raised in a very grounded and humble household to live up to his famous name.

 

Jamie did not disappoint.  He was loud, brash, cocky, and smart-mouthed from the moment he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express.  He reveled in all the attention, and was easily the most popular kid at school even before the train pulled into Hogsmeade. 

 

Of course, he sorted into Gryffindor and was welcomed by his house with the most raucous cheers the Great Hall had heard since Gryffindor’s last House Cup victory five years ago.  You knew that Jamie would make damn sure that his house would win the cup this year, and every year he attended Hogwarts.

 

You were proud of him.  You never doubted that he’d shine at Hogwarts. Maybe all the attention and accolades were getting to his head, for his inherent arrogance had grown ten fold. Still, you laughed off his conceit and found his overconfidence amusing while some quickly grew weary of his egotism.

 

You thought that maybe he wouldn’t look up to you as much as he had before school, since he was such a big deal now. But his adoration flourished there, absent of parents, under the same roof every single day.  You didn’t mind that he was your shadow, however bright, who followed you everywhere.  You cherished the late afternoons after classes, spent chatting about trivial things on the covered bridge between the East and West towers.  You took comfort in his presence next to you in the evenings as you studied in the library.  On the weekends, you’d take long walks around the circumference of the lake while sharing secrets and dreams.  It only took a few months to close the divide that had grown between you over years. You and Jamie were closer than you’d ever been, and your love had grown deeper than you thought was possible. Once again, Jamie wasn’t just your brother, he was your best friend, despite your disparity in age.

 

Maybe he couldn’t completely understand you, being twelve and relatively sheltered.  But you could trust him with your secrets.  He knew everything about you – even the dark, ugly parts of you. Of course you never implicated his father in any of your cryptic tales of heartbreak and pain. Even though the things you had told him made you out to be much less than a hero, Jamie still adored and idolized you.

 

When it was time to go home for winter holidays, Jamie was sad that he wouldn’t be seeing you every day like he’d grown accustomed to.  But it made it all the more joyful on Christmas when you saw him again. Even though Harry was separated from his wife, he was still invited to celebrate with the family at The Burrow. It was noticeably tense and awkward, but at least the whole clan was together.

 

After pudding had been served and everybody spread out around the house to drink eggnog and catch up, Harry pulled you aside and asked to speak with you in private.  You stood outside in Molly’s garden as snow fell in the darkness. He looked so different to you – older, more broken down, bitter and cold.  This Harry that stood before you was absent of the warmth of the Harry you’d once loved as a godfather.  He lacked the endearing vulnerability of the man you pined after as a lover. Part of you took sick pleasure in the fact that Harry had fallen so low after that awful day in his office. But the more predominant part of you, the part that had always been there, just wanted to hold him and take away his pain.

 

He showed no interest in seeking you for comfort, so you didn’t offer it, not that you would have given it to him after the way he used you.  He simply wanted to talk, and by the grave expression on his face, it was about something serious.

 

You felt bitter that Harry had never asked you how you were, if you’d been able to move on, or even if you were working towards forgiving him.  You wondered if he even cared. You knew he wasn’t about to start inquiring now.

 

He just crossed his arms over his chest and said sternly, “I need to make something very clear to you, Teddy.” It felt like you were in trouble, like you were a child and he was about to scold you.  “I see the way that Jamie looks at you.  And I see the way that you look at Jamie. All I’m going to say about that is _no_.”

 

You pursed your lips and glanced away, shaking your head in disbelief.  “Really, Harry.”

 

“Look, I don’t want this to be any more awkward than it has to be.  So I’m just going to tell you _no_ ,” he said.

 

You laughed mirthlessly, too disgusted to look at his face.  “You’ve got some nerve, Harry Potter.  You, who never understood the meaning of _no_. You, who could never say the word. But, I get it. He’s your son. You want to protect him.” Then you looked him in the eye because you wanted to drive home every point like a stake right through his heart. “But it speaks volumes about the depth of your sickness that you’d even think for one second that I would try anything with a twelve-year-old.  I’m seventeen now.  I’m an adult. Unlike some people, I know that I have a responsibility to make decisions for him when he’s too young to understand consequences.”

 

“Don’t make this about us, Teddy,” said Harry, beginning to lose his patience.

 

It was near impossible to keep your voice down. You hissed through your teeth as you balled your hands into fists so tight that your knuckles blanched. It took all of your self-control not to hit him.  “Oh you better fucking believe I’m going to make this about us.  You don’t get to fuck me and dump me and pretend that everything is okay.”

 

“I was giving you space.  I thought you needed some time before we could talk about it,” he insisted.

 

You took a deep cleansing breath and unclenched your fists.  “It’s been over a year. That’s not giving me space, that’s brushing me under the rug.”

 

Harry gave an anguished, exasperated sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

 

You muttered lowly, fighting back tears, “If you haven’t figured that out by now, then you never will.” 

 

You started to walk away, but Harry grabbed your arm. “Wait. One more thing. If you’re after Jamie just to get back at me, by gods, I will--”

 

That’s when you snapped.  You punched Harry square in the face, breaking his glasses and splitting your knuckles in the process.  He stumbled back in shock and fell into the snow.  It felt oddly cathartic to hurt him so physically, though you hurt yourself in the process.  You turned and walked away, aimlessly into the moors behind the house, never even looking over your shoulder when you called out into the snowy night loud enough for him to hear, “Don’t worry, Harry.  Jamie may not respect boundaries, but I do.”

 

 

~@~

 

Maybe you punched Harry because you were angry that he never said he was sorry for what he’d done to you.  But you also hit him because he was absolutely right about you and Jamie and you hated it.  Harry had seen something in you that you purposely suppressed.  Your love for Jamie and his love for you had become something more than a brotherly bond.  Now that Harry had brought it into the light, you had to face it.

 

You were slightly distant the following semester at school and Jamie noticed it immediately.  You told him you were stressed and busy with your studies, it being your final year at Hogwarts.  You hoped to be accepted into the Institute for Advanced Wizardry at Oxford, so you threw yourself into your work harder than ever.  The rift between you and Jamie had started to grow again. You knew it was breaking his heart, but you had to do it – he was just too young.

 

Jamie was always pushy and insistent. He was used to always getting his way. The more you tried to drift away, the more he advanced, to the point where he was outright flirting with you. And you started to see the dilemma that Harry had been in with you when you were younger.  Still, it was no excuse for what he’d done.

 

The day before you left for university, Jamie visited you at Gran’s house.  You were both in the kitchen, washing dishes after dinner so Gran could turn in early. You couldn’t help joking and laughing with him because it was so easy to do.  After a particularly hilarious jibe, he fell silent suddenly.

 

“Everything alright, Jamie?” you asked, concerned as always.

 

“No.  No it’s not,” he said gravely, which was not him at all.  “I’m going to miss you so much when you go to Oxford.”

 

“Awh, I’ll miss you too, buddy,” you said, perhaps a bit too patronizingly for his liking.

 

“You don’t understand, Teddy. It’s not like when you went away to Hogwarts.  Things are different now.”  He looked at you with his stormy blue eyes, and for the first time, you saw pain there. It broke your heart completely.

 

You smiled uneasily and said, “Don’t worry. We’ll see each other on holidays and during the summer.”

 

His voice cracked just a fraction when he spoke, and not just from the ravages of puberty.  He was the sort of boy that never cried.  But he looked absolutely fit to burst into tears.  “Teddy, you have to promise me something.”

 

You put down the dish you were washing and turned to face him properly, your brow furrowing with worry.  “I don’t know if I can.  What is it, Jamie?”

 

He reached up and gently brushed his fingertips along your cheek as tears silently rolled down his.  “Don’t you dare forget about me.  Don’t ever forget that I love you.  _Really_ love you. I know I’m twelve and you’re so bloody old.  But I won’t be twelve forever.”

 

Your eyes welled up with tears and you covered his hand with yours.  You had to giggle just a little because he managed to disparage you whilst confessing his love for you, in typical Jamie style.  The small laugh shook the tears from the corners of your eyes and he wiped them away with his thumbs.  “I won’t, Jamie. I promise.”

 

Although you felt it deep in your soul, you couldn’t say what you felt out loud.  You thought it would be irresponsible to do so.  Instead, you told him with your eyes and with your smile. Jamie didn’t know what it meant when your hair turned purple.  But he knew he’d caused the streaks to appear in your fringe, and it was enough. For now.

 

 

~@~

 

The next time you saw Jamie, it was Christmas. You’d been exchanging letters all semester and already knew every tale that Jamie had regaled the family with over dinner at The Burrow.  But you relished them all the same because he was so happy and proud of himself. He’d made the quidditch team on his first tryout and was nothing but stellar as chaser, leading Gryffindor into victory in every game. 

 

Though you tried to avoid the inevitable, Jamie managed to duck under his dad’s notice to get you alone after pudding. You’d taken out a large rubbish bag filled with Christmas wrapping for Molly when he found you by the shed. You hadn’t noticed until he was standing solitary in the moonlight that Jamie had grown quite a lot since the summer. He would be turning thirteen the next day, and had managed to get through his first year of puberty without too much awkwardness.  Your love for him had always transcended the physical, and this was the first time that you really recognized how beautiful Jamie was.

 

He looked like a more refined, more graceful version of his father.  Arthur had always said Jamie looked just like his namesake, but with his mother’s fair and faintly dappled complexion.  His limbs were long and elegant, and quidditch had already begun to subtly carve out his musculature.  But his eyes were what really drew you in. 

 

“Hey stranger,” he said with a crooked grin.

 

“Hey yourself,” you replied with a little playful nudge to his shoulder, “What’s up?”

 

“Nothing much.  Just wanted to see what you were doing out here alone.” He slowly advanced as he spoke, but you hardly noticed until he was already precariously close.

 

“I’m taking out the rubbish like a good boy,” you said with a smile.

 

Jamie raised a brow and repeated dubiously, “Have you really been a good boy, Teddy?  You know Father Christmas is still watching.”

 

You giggled because you thought it was just typical playful banter.  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m always a good boy.”

 

He shrugged as he stepped closer, remaining casual though he was effectively trapping you against the shed.  “Sometimes it’s fun to be bad.”  There was something stirring within the tempest of his ocean blue eyes that made your heart race.  You caught a glimpse of that dark glimmer and it made you shiver all the way through your body.  You wondered what a thirteen-year-old could really know of desire.  Before you could stop him, Jamie’s lips were on yours.

 

You turned your face and grabbed him by his shoulders. “Jamie, stop.”

 

He rolled his eyes and drawled, “Don’t be ridiculous, Teddy.  Nobody’s watching.”

 

You furrowed your brow and huffed, “Jamie, it doesn’t matter if nobody’s watching.  I don’t want to kiss you.” 

 

You did your best to sound convincing, but it was a lie.  The cinnamon sugar taste of Jamie’s mouth was already on your lips and you wanted more, even though your conscience was screaming that it was wrong. 

 

You put some distance between you and Jamie with your arms and whined sadly, “You’re my little brother.  We _can’t_.”

 

Jamie did his best to brush off rejection in the flippant way he always scoffed at people who wouldn’t give him what he wanted. But you knew him, and you saw how hurt he was.  “You made a promise to me in August, Teddy.  But I’m hardly surprised that you’re breaking it.”

 

“James,” you sighed.  “I promised that I wouldn’t forget that you love me. I never promised you anything else.”

 

He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away with an impatient, overly dramatic sigh.  “You’ve become so boring in your old age, Teddy.”

 

As he walked back towards the house, he said matter-of-factly, “By the way you’re sleeping over my house tonight. Mum already approved it. It’s my birthday tomorrow and I want you there early.”

 

It was apparent that Jamie really wasn’t going to take no for an answer in any capacity, so you decided to take drastic measures to get him to back off.  It was imperative that you conspicuously took yourself off the market.  But you were beginning to realize that the more you made yourself unavailable to Jamie, the more he wanted you.  Victoire and everyone else that followed in quick succession be damned.

 

 

~@~

 

Over the span of your lives, you and Jamie had been drifting apart and coming together over and over like tectonic plates. In your third year at university, you were in a period of convergence.  You were twenty and no longer a teenager, not that you had felt like one through any of your teen years.  You always felt much older inside, which made it all the more strange that you could connect so well with Jamie, who was fourteen.

 

 

Jamie surprised you by sneaking away from school one weekend in October to take the train to Oxford.  He showed up at your dorm Saturday night, completely catching you off guard.  You couldn’t send him away right then and there – it had taken him an entire day to get to you, which was quite touching, albeit insane.  There was no choice but to let him in and stay over until the next train in the morning.

 

You had your own private room, as did most third and fourth year university students at your school, though it was a tiny one. There was barely enough space for you on your bed, let alone you and Jamie.  But there was absolutely no other place to sleep – the floor was cold marble, and even with the rug covering it, it was too hard to sleep upon.

 

“No touching, okay?” you told Jamie sternly when it was time for bed, shaking a finger at him as he squeezed next to you.

 

Both of you were lying on your sides in the bed, facing one another.

 

Jamie smirked.  “So I can’t touch you here?” He pressed his index finger to your nose as if it were a button.  “Boop!”

 

You giggled because you couldn’t help yourself. “Okay, maybe there.”

 

“What about here?” he asked, before swiftly flicking your ear.

 

“Ouch!” you hissed, however playfully since it didn’t really hurt, “Definitely not if you’re going to do _that_.”

 

“What if…” Jamie’s smirk darkened as he leaned close. You braced yourself, ready to thwart any attack or unwanted advance.  “What if I touched you there like _this_.” He let his lips ghost faintly over the shell of your ear and you curled your fingers into the front of his shirt, intending to push him back but failing without ever really trying.

 

“Jamie,” you reprimanded quietly, but it was anything but stern and came out inadvertently like a sigh.

 

His mouth brushed against your ear as he spoke softly, “I took a train all the way across the country to see you. What do you think that means?”

 

You answered with a quiet, nervous laugh, trying to diffuse the palpable tension and slow down the gallop of your heart, “It means you’re going to be in serious trouble when McGonagall finds out you’re gone.”

 

He whispered, “It means I will do _anything_ to be with you.”  The depth of his words and the warmth of his breath sent a surge of heat through your body and made your eyelids flutter to a close. His mouth dropped down to the side of your neck.  “It means I will do _anything_ to show you how much I love you.” Your breath hitched when you felt him press his lips to your skin. “I will do _anything_ to make you mine.”

 

It took remarkably little to break you down, to make you succumb to Jamie’s lips and suppress all the parts of you that screamed at you to stop.  You weren’t a reckless child anymore and you knew better, but he made you feel so damn special and wanted and loved, so the hand that was meant to push him away pulled him closer instead.

 

When you and Jamie kissed, it rendered time irrelevant. It erased the six years in age between you.  It didn’t matter how young he was or how old you were – all that mattered was that Jamie loved you and made you feel it right down to your bones.  And he made it clear for you, without a doubt, that your love for him went beyond that of a brother.  You didn’t just love Jamie like he was family - you loved him like he was _yours_.

 

He kissed like he knew what he was doing, and you were only mildly surprised.  The thing that really astounded you was the command he had over your body. When he touched you, it wasn’t inexpert exploration – Jamie knew exactly how to unravel you. Even more amazing was the way that you both moved seamlessly, as if you’d been doing this forever, as if your bodies were designed to work together.  It took little, if any, effort to get you down to your underwear lying desperately beneath Jamie’s similarly clad form.  And it didn’t feel wrong at all – it felt like the most rightthing you’d ever done, as if _this_ was your destiny.

 

His eyes shone above you, and it was like looking at the tranquil sea on a sunny day.  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered breathily as his fingertips made feather-light pathways of adoration along the side of your face, down to your throat, and over the swell of your heaving chest.  It was the first time anyone had ever told you so, and he made you feel it so completely that you glowed when you smiled.

 

You blushed hard and the color flooded your cheeks, all the way through to your hair.  You draped the back of your forearm over your face and giggled quietly. “I bet you say that to all the blue-haired freaks.”

 

“No, just the blue-haired freaks with lavender eyes.” He uncovered your face and gently pinned your wrist to the pillow before lacing your fingers together. “There’s nobody in the world like you, Teddy.  The gods created you just for me.”  Even Jamie knew that you were undoubtedly his and he was yours. 

 

“And the Fates made it so that I was created six years too soon,” you said, not sounding grave at all.

 

“No, I think you got a head start because the Fates knew that I’d be born exceedingly more awesome and brilliant.”

 

You both shook with laughter and you were so ridiculously in love with this boy, who was cocky and stubborn and so heart-wrenchingly wonderful.  There was no point in fighting it anymore.  You hooked your free hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

 

It was the first real move on your part. Up until this point, Jamie had been initiating and progressing everything.  Perhaps your action had given him license to push things further. He moved his hips in a way that made you moan involuntarily against his mouth.  You could almost feel him grinning smugly against your lips. He kissed a wet trail down your torso, stopping just below your navel to curl his fingers in the waistband of your underpants.  He glanced up at you, perhaps to gain your permission, so you gave him a small nod. You didn’t even question it – there was no hesitation, no war inside your head, no reservations. Your love for Jamie and his love for you defied all laws regarding the age of consent.

 

When he divested you of your underwear, you were already hard – your desire for him and the friction he’d been generating had taken care of that.  And when he took you into the heaven of his mouth, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your back arched off the bed.  He lavished the entirety of your length with his tongue more proficiently than a fourteen-year-old should.  But you were too lost in pleasure to wonder how Jamie had learned how to perform oral sex like a pro.

 

You hazarded a glance and were met with the most delicious sight you’d ever seen.  Jamie looked _so fucking pretty_ with your cock in his mouth – you just had to whimper.  “Oh gods, Jamie…”

 

He managed to smirk around the swollen tip and it completely killed you.  You screwed your eyes closed because it felt too good to let it end now and you feared that you were precariously close.

 

Then Jamie did something that startled you enough to smack you hard out of your rapture with a pained gasp. Your eyes went wide with shock when you looked down and saw what he was doing. You clamped your fingers into his shoulder and hissed, “Jamie, don’t.” 

 

He snapped his head up and furrowed his brow. “I thought you’d like it.”

 

“It bloody hurt,” you said, stunned.

 

“I’m sorry.  I won’t do it again,” he replied, more annoyed than apologetic.

 

You sat up, still in a state of alarm. “That’s not a normal thing to do, James. It’s weird and it’s…Where’d you learn to do that?”

 

“I don’t know.  Places,” he replied reticently, shrugging nonchalantly before sitting up.  “What’s the big deal? I said I wouldn’t do it again.” Although he was flippant, you saw him falter in his eyes just a fraction.

 

You moved close enough to gently hold his face in your hands while you scrutinized him.  In the storm of his blue-grey eyes, you saw your own pain from long ago reflected back at you.  And your heart shattered into a million jagged-edged pieces.  You started to tremble and cry.  “Jamie… Don’t _ever_ do it again. To _anyone_. You don’t have to, okay? Promise me?”

 

You knew who taught Jamie how to do that weird _thing_.  It was the same person that taught you.  You were thirteen, and even as inexperienced as you were, you knew it was not something men normally enjoyed.  This was confirmed by every guy you’d tried it on thereafter. It was something that reflected the peculiar tastes of a very troubled man.

 

Jamie looked at you like you were crazy. “Fine.  Point taken.  Won’t do it again,” he muttered, trying to mask his embarrassment by being annoyed.

 

It infuriated you that Jamie was still trying to brush it off, that he was still hiding the darkest of his secrets that you’d never even suspected had been buried deep beneath his unaffected exterior. Surely, he was smart enough to figure out why you were familiar with this strange predilection. You held his face more firmly, speaking in a panicked, ragged voice.  “Jamie you have to promise me.  I made a promise to you when you were twelve and now you have to make this promise to me. Tell me you won’t let anyone make you do that again.”

 

That’s when he finally understood and broke down. His breath hitched and tears welled up in the ocean of his eyes.  “I can’t. I have to make him stay,” Jamie said sadly.

 

You pulled him against you and held him tightly, as if you could protect his broken soul with your embrace. You cried into his hair and you felt him shake with sobs within your arms.  “No you don’t.  You don’t have to do anything, Jamie.  You weren’t supposed to be the one.  I was supposed to protect you.  All of you.”

 

You and Jamie cried in each other’s arms until you fell, exhausted, down to the bed.  He slept nestled against you with your arm around him, but it took a long time before you could quiet your mind enough to rest.  He roused before dawn and turned in your arms, pulling you out of your uneasy sleep.  You looked at each other silently in the grey dimness of the small hours, speaking without words, communicating the shared experience of your damaged souls.

 

And after a long while, he broke the gloomy silence, whispering hoarsely, “I promise I won’t do it.  Now you promise me you won’t either.”

 

“I can’t,” you insisted glumly, “I have to do this for you.  For Albie. For Lily.”

 

He took a slow breath and then asked flatly, “Do you love him?”

 

“I don’t think so.  Definitely not like I once did.  Definitely not the way I love you,” you admitted.

 

He closed his eyes, took another slow breath, and when he opened them, there was tears.  “Say it again.”

 

You didn’t hesitate.  “I love you.”

 

“Again,” he insisted.

 

“I love you, Jamie.”

 

He kissed you softly, his mouth wet with tears. He pulled you on top of him when he rolled onto his back.  And you kissed each other tenderly, as if you could heal each other with your lips.

 

He parted his thighs for you and you fit between them so perfectly.  When you sank deep inside of him, your eyes never left his, and there were no tears, there was no guilt, and there was no shame.  There was only love and trust.

 

In the morning, you brought Jamie to the train station. On the platform, he laced your hands together and said, “Maybe he doesn’t have to hurt anyone anymore.”

 

You didn’t know what he meant, but you replied, “Maybe,” with a little hopeful grin.

 

He kissed you before hopping onto the train and you didn’t care who saw.  Your love was real, and pure, and worth fighting for.

 

 

~@~

 

It was the twenty-seventh of December in the year twenty-eighteen, when life as you’d known it ended again.  It was the day after Jamie turned fifteen, the day that an owl came swooping into Gran’s house bearing a letter.

 

 

_Dearest Teddy,_

_There is no easy way for me to tell you this._

_Harry didn’t wake up this morning.  I found a suicide note on my bedside table, and a phial of Endless Sleep Draught on his. As I’m sure you know, there is no antidote._

_We all knew that Harry was a very troubled man.  And perhaps we are all to blame for putting the weight of the world on his shoulders. For how can one person stay strong enough to endure all that he has gone through from the time he was an infant? It is as if Harry was destined to save us all and destroy himself in the process._

_I know you were very close to him and I thought you might want to visit him. He’s still at home. He’ll be moved to St. Mungo’s, perhaps in a week or so, after we figure out how to keep it from being a public spectacle._

_I’m so sorry to bear such awful news.  As always, the kids and I are here for you.  We’d all appreciate your presence as we say goodbye to Harry and try to pick up the pieces. Jamie is especially hysterical and could probably use your help to cope with this._

_Love,_

_Ginny_

 

 

The twenty-seventh of December was the day that you were finally free.

 

 

Though it had been written in Destiny’s big book of lives that a Potter would destroy your heart, it was also written that a Potter would put it back together.  On Jamie’s seventeenth birthday, you slipped a gold ring on his finger, he slipped a matching ring on yours, and your broken souls were finally mended when they were joined.

**Author's Note:**

> Destiny belongs to Neil Gaiman. Please read the companion piece to this story by ColorfulStabwound. It's James' perspective and it's gorgeous. Link is under related works.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Destiny and Desire: James](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722982) by [ColorfulStabwound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound)




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